


Blossom

by PhantomFlutist



Category: VIXX
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Sexual Content, Smoking, Suicide, i swear there's a happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7840456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFlutist/pseuds/PhantomFlutist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Kim Wonshik sees Jung Taekwoon, he knows he wants to be his friend. The last time Kim Wonshik sees Jung Taekwoon, he wishes that they'd never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> This was an epic of a story for me, done in a way I don't usually write. So thank you a thousand times to my betas Rosie and Reney, without whom it never would have happened.
> 
> Also many thanks to my writing team, who were a great encouragement throughout this ridiculous venture. I loved the mornings that I woke up to a long series of messages between you guys on kkt.
> 
> Edit 21Nov16: Discovered that the song Leo wrote for the Kratos mini album, [로맨스는 끝났다](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGnTDjXC_30), is essentially the theme song for this piece and had to share.

blossom _, verb /ˈblɒs(ə)m/_

_1 (Of a tree or bush) produce flowers or masses of flowers: a garden in which roses blossom._

_1.1 Mature or develop in a promising or healthy way._

 

_\---_

 

The first time Kim Wonshik sees Jung Taekwoon, it’s across a crowded practice room. Taekwoon is so pale, his skin is almost perfect, and he’s already all long, lean, graceful lines. In comparison, Wonshik feels too young, too ugly, too awkward, too flawed to even be here.

Hongbin bumps his shoulder, a mass of jittering nerves. His right hand shakes sometimes and Wonshik doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know Hongbin well enough to ask. “Come on, let’s go stretch,” Hongbin says, so they do.

They find a little bit of empty floor and they start warming up, but Wonshik’s eyes are still on the dark-haired, blank-faced boy in the corner. Next to him is a boy with skin darker than Wonshik’s, who can spread his legs into a Russian split like it’s nothing. He’s talking incessantly at the other boy, though Taekwoon doesn’t seem to react to him at all.

“Dude, stop staring,” Hongbin mutters, folding himself down over his stretched-out legs. Wonshik realizes he’s imitating one of the older trainees and fights back a smile. Hongbin wasn’t kidding when he said he knew nothing about dance.

Wonshik smacks him under the guise of pulling his arm across his chest to stretch out his shoulder. “Shut up, I’m not,” he hisses, but he keeps his glances more covert after that.

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to the other boy before practice, and he’s not convinced he would have found the courage to anyway. But after practice, when everyone is wearily going for towels and water bottles, the dark-skinned boy drags the quieter boy over by the hand and says, “Hi! You’re the new trainees, right? I’m Hakyeon, and this is Taekwoon.”

Wonshik returns the greeting and feels Hongbin bow as well, beside him.

Taekwoon gives them a vague nod and then tugs himself out of Hakyeon’s grasp, going to dig through his bag and then leaving the room with his water bottle in one hand and something small and white clenched in the other.

Hakyeon is smiling, his mouth full of bright white teeth. He’s really quite handsome—maybe not “traditionally” handsome, but Wonshik is sure that he’ll have plenty of fans when he debuts. “Don’t worry about Taekwoon’s frigidness,” he tells them. “He just has trouble with new people. He’ll warm up to you soon enough.”

Wonshik hopes so, because for whatever reason, he would really like to be Taekwoon’s friend.

 ---

It takes him a while of watching Taekwoon from afar, of being too scared to talk to him, before Wonshik finally says ‘fuck it’ and follows him when he slips out after practice.

Taekwoon goes up to the roof, takes a long drink from his water bottle and sets it down on a ledge near him. Then he pulls something from the white box in his left hand and Wonshik realizes oh, they’re cigarettes, of course. Taekwoon lights up and then glances over at him. “Are you just going to stand there?” he asks.

It’s the first time Wonshik’s really heard his voice—Taekwoon mumbles if he has to talk at all during dance practice, and they’re in different vocal lessons. He flounders for a moment and then finally steps forward, lets the door fall shut behind him and comes up beside Taekwoon at the railing. He’s kind of surprised that Taekwoon is the only one up here smoking. “Can I have one?” he asks like an idiot.

Taekwoon raises a perfectly-formed eyebrow at him and says, “Aren’t you still a student?”

Only for a few more months, and then Wonshik will graduate and be free forever, but he doesn’t say that. Instead he shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage and replies, “I’m eighteen.”

Taekwoon’s lips quirk up slightly and he makes this little huffing sound, and it takes Wonshik a moment to realize that he’s laughing. Oh great, Taekwoon is laughing at him. But he’s also holding the pack out and letting Wonshik pluck out a cigarette with suddenly shaking fingers. He flicks the lighter with practiced ease, holds it as Wonshik puts the cigarette between his lips and sticks the end of it in the flame and inhales.

The smoke is choking and Wonshik can feel his eyes watering but he refuses to cough. He doesn’t want Taekwoon to think this is his first time, even though it is.

Taekwoon tucks the lighter into his pocket and turns his attention back to the cityscape in front of them. He takes a long drag and holds the smoke in for several moments before letting it out in a long, slow stream. “You’ll ruin your voice, you know,” he says as if he’s commenting on the weather.

Wonshik leans forward against the railing and tries to imagine how Taekwoon sees the world. He takes another drag and the urge to cough isn’t so strong this time. “Don’t have much of a voice to ruin,” he admits, wry. “I didn’t get in on my singing skills.”

Taekwoon hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything more. The tip of the cigarette burns bright against the backdrop of his pale skin in the half-light of early evening.

“What about you?” Wonshik finds himself asking. “I thought you wanted to be a singer.”

“I do,” Taekwoon replies. He stubs the end of his cigarette out on the ledge, throws it into a bucket full of them, picks up his water bottle and goes back inside.

Wonshik is left with half an unwanted cigarette and the feeling that he’ll never manage to get close to Taekwoon.

 ---

That’s not the last time Wonshik joins Taekwoon on the roof for a smoke, though. The next time he brings his own pack, shakes one out and leans against the railing next to Taekwoon without speaking.

Before Wonshik can reach for his cheap plastic lighter, Taekwoon is holding his own out, the small flame flickering above thin fingers. He waits while Wonshik lights his cigarette and then lets the flame burn for another moment, staring at it. Finally he lets it go out, tucks the lighter back into his pocket and says, “I’m not a very good influence.”

Wonshik’s fingers stutter, halfway to his mouth for a second drag. “I would have started anyway,” he lies. “I like it. Relaxes me.” It does, but not when he’s here, so close to Taekwoon they’re almost touching. He doesn’t know what he feels for Taekwoon, exactly, other than intense curiosity and vague awe.

Taekwoon hums, but somehow Wonshik knows he’s not convinced. “You shouldn’t,” he mutters. “It’s a terrible habit. You’ll die young.”

“You’re one to talk,” Wonshik retorts without thinking. He freezes. Ash falls from the tip of his cigarette down to the street below.

Taekwoon’s lips quirk up and he slides his smoke into his left hand so he can use his right to ruffle Wonshik’s dumb-looking hair. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admits.

It becomes a habit, escaping to the roof together. Sometimes Wonshik wonders if Taekwoon minds that Wonshik is interrupting his alone time, but if he does he never says anything. In fact, many times they don’t talk at all. But that’s okay. Wonshik likes just being near Taekwoon. And Taekwoon, well, he always has his lighter ready for Wonshik.

 ---

The first time Kim Wonshik hears Jung Taekwoon sing it’s close to Christmas that same year. There’s a chill in the air and the wind is biting, especially on the rooftop. They don’t stay out for long periods of time anymore, staring out at the city lights and enjoying each other’s company. Instead they go out huddled in coats and scarves to protect their sweat-soaked bodies from the freezing wind, and as soon as their cigarettes have burned down to the butt they toss them away and hurry back inside to the warmth of the practice room that’s become their second home.

But the first time Wonshik hears Taekwoon sing it’s because he got caught by someone at the last moment (asked later, he won’t remember who, or for what) and by the time he makes it to the roof the final tendrils of smoke from Taekwoon’s cigarette are being scattered by the chill breeze and he’s singing, soft and high.

Wonshik never would have guessed what Taekwoon’s voice sounds like when he’s singing. It’s not so very different from his speaking voice, and yet…and yet. It has a richness that his usual quiet murmur never utilizes. Wonshik should have expected that he would have such a sweet, high tenor voice. Inside his own head, he may or may not describe it as ‘the voice of an angel’, as cliché as that sounds.

The mesmerizing stillness of the moment is doomed to end at some point. And sure enough as Wonshik stands there listening Taekwoon attempts to hit a high note, but instead what comes out is a rough, gravelly croak, and he abruptly drops his head, the last of the song floating away into the muted gray evening.

Glaring at the butt of his cigarette, Taekwoon stamps it out viciously on the ledge and throws it in the bucket with the others. When he turns and sees Wonshik standing in the doorway, he says, “Don’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”

Wonshik knew that before he started. But now he’s beginning to think that there might be things worse for him than smoking. His heart is beating too fast and he doesn’t think he’s blinked in a while and he really, really wants to tackle Taekwoon and force him to sing until he can’t anymore just because Wonshik wants to hear his voice.

He doesn’t. What he does is leave the pack in his pocket and go back inside with Taekwoon without a word. He thinks he sees Taekwoon smile, just a little, and that makes it worth ignoring the shaking in his hands.

 ---

In spite of Taekwoon’s apparent resolution, they’re back on the roof the next day. Wonshik watches gray smoke curl in front of the backdrop of gray city and wonders what it’s like to grow up surrounded by greenery and open space instead of boxed in on all sides by high-rise buildings.

“You should quit,” Taekwoon says, in a voice rough with smoke.

Wonshik retorts, “So should you,” and takes another drag. It’s never been about the cigarettes for him. If Taekwoon quits, so will he. But as long as Taekwoon is up here, Wonshik will be at his side.

The silence settles around them like a warm blanket. Up here, even the sounds of the city feel far away and the wind washes away his worries and his fears. It’s not so bad, Wonshik thinks, to have an escape like this.

Taekwoon shatters the stillness again with a sigh. “I’m not going to make it,” he says.

“What, debut?” Wonshik asks, blinking owlishly at Taekwoon. He’s been staring into the distance for so long that it’s difficult to refocus on Taekwoon’s face. “Why the hell wouldn’t you?”

Taekwoon snorts smoke out his nose. It makes him look like a dragon. “With this voice? I’m not good enough.” His face is scrunched and he won’t meet Wonshik’s eyes, which wouldn’t be unusual except that they’re something resembling friends now and Taekwoon hasn’t avoided his gaze in a long time.

“You are,” Wonshik says. He’s not sure where the conviction in his voice comes from. “Your voice is amazing. And you’re a good dancer and handsome besides.” As soon as his courage hit it dissolves, and Wonshik flounders for a moment and finally shuts his mouth.

A hand lands in Wonshik’s hair, ruffling it lightly. “Thanks, kid,” Taekwoon says. When Wonshik glances over he’s smiling just a bit, one corner of his lips quirked up.

“I mean it,” Wonshik insists, sounding more sure and brave than he feels. “We’re gonna debut together, just wait and see.”

Taekwoon just chuckles at him, ruffling Wonshik’s hair again before he drops his hand and heads back inside. Maybe he doesn’t believe it, but Wonshik’s already promised himself that he’ll make it happen. The fluttery feeling in his chest tells him that he can’t possibly do anything else.

 ---

Nothing changes. Wonshik goads Taekwoon into trying harder during practice, smirks a challenge at him in the mirror and watches Taekwoon’s plush lips smirk back, but nothing really changes.

They still go up to the roof. Taekwoon’s voice still grates and scratches when he sings. He still hunches into himself, hangs his head and insists quietly that he’ll never be good enough. Wonshik can’t seem to dissuade him of the notion, but Taekwoon doesn’t leave. In spite of his pessimism, he still comes to practice every day.

And Taekwoon’s voice may not be in peak condition, but he’s easily one of the best dancers. Wonshik finds himself jealous of Taekwoon’s easy grace. He always seems to know exactly where his limbs are. In spite of his height, he’s not gawky or awkward at all. Wonshik wishes he were like that.

As the year comes to a close, Wonshik’s parents and teachers all start to lecture him about what he’s going to do when he graduates. Not surprisingly, they want him to go to college. But Wonshik knows that his test scores were terrible and that there’s no school in Seoul that will accept him even if he wants to go. Except that he doesn’t want to go to college. He wants to make music; it’s why he’s here.

It feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done when he confesses to Taekwoon, “Everyone thinks I’m wasting my life.”

But Taekwoon, his face lit up by the neon orange sign across the street, just shrugs. “So prove them wrong,” he says.

Wonshik thinks about how hard Taekwoon is fighting with himself right now. He thinks about the pained smile on Hakyeon’s face when all of his limbs hurt from dancing. He thinks about how lost Hongbin looks sometimes, how insecure Jaehwan is behind the façade, how tired and grim Nakhun and Daewon always seem. All of them are still fighting because this is their dream, because they can’t see themselves doing anything else.

So Wonshik will fight too, because they’re in this together.

 ---

MyDol feels like hell. They’ve all been training together, working so hard, and all of a sudden it might not mean anything at all. Hakyeon tries really hard to maintain the friendship and comradery that they had going on before, but the show (and their three new housemates) hammers home the fact that they’re competing for a limited number of spots.

And that’s not even mentioning the fact that they suddenly have no privacy, thanks to the cameras in their dorm, in the practice rooms. They have to be careful about what they do—no undressing in front of the cameras, no cursing, no drinking, and absolutely no cigarettes. Wonshik and Taekwoon actually got pulled aside before the show started and got a lecture about it.

“Look,” the CEO said, “if you want to smoke that’s your own decision, but you have an image to uphold now. So keep it off-camera.”

They both nodded and agreed meekly, and even though Wonshik knew the reason for the admonishment, it still stings the same way as being scolded by the teachers at school.

He didn’t realize how hard it would be to keep the smoking a secret until they actually start doing it. Turns out that finding plausible excuses for disappearing all the time is harder than it sounds.

“Hey,” Wonshik calls to Hakyeon when he sees Taekwoon’s fingers start to twitch. “We’re going to get drinks. You guys want anything?”

He gets a list of drink orders and then nudges Taekwoon, and they slip on shoes and go out into the brisk air. It’s warming up, but still cool in the evenings especially.

They probably shouldn’t smoke at the playground, but it’s the most convenient place and it’s usually deserted at this time of night. Taekwoon is lighting up before they even reach the swingset.

The rush of nicotine is calming. Wonshik is surprised by how accustomed he’s gotten to this feeling and to having the cig in his fingers. With everything else falling down around his ears, at least he has a familiar habit to fall back on.

Taekwoon clicks his lighter on and lets it go out. On and off, a bright spot in the darkness that’s quickly extinguished. “I’m going to quit,” he says.

Wonshik feels his eyes go wide, forgets about his cigarette as he turns to gape at Taekwoon. “You’re going to quit the show? Why?”

Taekwoon shoves him hard and Wonshik falls out of the swing and lands on his ass, still gaping.

“Not the show, dumbass,” Taekwoon says, and in the ghostly glow of far-off streetlights Wonshik can just see his little smile. He takes one last drag and then stomps his cig out and suddenly Wonshik understands.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “You meant smoking.”

Taekwoon nods and hefts himself out of the low-hanging swing. He offers a hand and Wonshik takes it, lets Taekwoon pull him upright and ends up standing maybe a little closer than is necessary.

Taekwoon pulls what’s left of a pack out of his pocket and holds it out. “Here,” he says, “you can have it.”

“Nah, hyung,” Wonshik replies, a grin splitting his face. “I’m quitting too.”

 ---

The first time Kim Wonshik kisses Jung Taekwoon goes like this: Taekwoon’s voice is finally starting to clear up by the time they hit the final selection. And in contrast, Nakhun has started having trouble breathing. They all know what it is, but no one dares breathe the word ’hanahaki’ in front of him. None of them are truly surprised when he gets eliminated.

But when the final line-up is decided, when the others have been given tearful hugs and have packed their things and moved out of the shared dorm, the rest of them collapse in a giddy pile in the middle of the living room.

Half of them are still crying, and Wonshik can’t help but think of the others, the boys he’d come to think of as brothers and the ones that he still barely knew. He looks over at Sanghyuk, with his earnest baby-face still full of wonderment that he’s been selected over boys who were older and more practiced than him. Wonshik doesn’t hate him, but he is envious of how easy Sanghyuk has it, how quickly he was offered a place.

Wonshik pushes himself up, ignores Hongbin’s complaints when he’s dislodged from his spot on Wonshik’s shoulder. “I’m going out,” he says.

Hakyeon’s eyes fall on him, see all too well the way Wonshik’s hands shake, and he says, “I thought you quit?”

Wonshik shakes his head. “Not smoking, hyung,” he promises, “just need some fresh air.”

After another moment of scrutiny, Hakyeon waves him off. He’s using Taekwoon’s stomach as a pillow and squawks indignantly when Taekwoon opts to stand as well.

Hongbin has already scooted over to fill in the gap, and as Wonshik and Taekwoon leave, Wonshik sees Hakyeon start to play with Hongbin’s fluffy hair, apparently resigned to having the younger boy’s head in his lap.

Even though they’re not going to smoke, somehow they end up at the playground anyway, sitting on the swings and scuffing their toes in the dirt. Wonshik still feels a weird combination of sad and ecstatic, and it’s making him crave a smoke if only to have something to do with his shaking hands.

Long, thin fingers wrap around Wonshik’s and squeeze tight. Taekwoon’s hands may look delicate, the veins sticking up through the skin, but they’re strong and steady. Wonshik lets Taekwoon’s warmth ground him and takes a deep breath.

“I like you, hyung.”

Taekwoon stares.

Wonshik turns, twisting the chains of the swing above his head. He feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside his chest. This wasn’t how he meant to do this. He never meant to tell Taekwoon at all. “I like you,” he says again.

Plush lips press tight together for a moment, and then Taekwoon nods. His fingers slot themselves between Wonshik’s.

Wonshik leans forward. He has to untangle one hand from the jumble of fingers and grab the chain of Taekwoon’s swing to pull him close enough for their lips to meet. It’s kind of awkward and Wonshik presses a little too hard in his enthusiasm, but Taekwoon leans into it too, extracts a hand to wrap in Wonshik’s shirt and keep him from moving away.

When they do finally part, both blushing fiercely, Wonshik murmurs, “Go out with me.”

Taekwoon leans their foreheads together and that’s all the answer Wonshik really needs. Their fingers are still locked tightly together and neither of them is inclined to let go.

 ---

The others never find out. They’re already used to Wonshik and Taekwoon sneaking off by themselves, and they don’t have to know what happens in lieu of smoking.

Taekwoon usually isn’t fond of skinship, but he lets Wonshik cuddle up to him as much as he wants. No one seems to notice, except for Hakyeon, who only uses it as a reason to complain that Taekwoon always pushes _him_ away.

There are no warning lectures or disapproving looks. Most of the time, their dates are trips to the convenience store and stops at the playground to sit on the swings holding hands. (And kisses on the roof of the company building, tucked back away from the railing where no one can see them.)

Taekwoon almost never initiates any of it, but Wonshik doesn’t mind. Taekwoon is pliant and willing beneath Wonshik’s hands, his lips, and he always presses back into Wonshik’s kisses like he’s a man drowning and Wonshik is air.

“Hyung,” Wonshik whispers one day, lounging beside Taekwoon on the practice room floor while the others rattle loud and rambunctious around them, “Did you ever think we’d be here?”

Taekwoon shakes his head and subtly tucks his hand into Wonshik’s, draped on the floor and mostly hidden by their bodies. “I thought it would be different,” he replies.

Wonshik trembles from the contact, but he knows what Taekwoon means. They started this with a different group of boys, and none of them could have predicted how it would end. But Wonshik also wouldn’t have put money on how well Sanghyuk is meshing with the rest of them—he’s still scared of Taekwoon, but that will pass for him as it has for Wonshik, and Hongbin, and the others.

Their debut is just around the corner, and the CEO has given Jaehwan and Taekwoon and Sanghyuk new names. Wonshik looks at Taekwoon and thinks of referring to him as ‘Leo-hyung’ and has to fight a laugh, because Taekwoon may look as fierce and strong as a lion, but the truth is that he’s as soft and gentle and fragile as a newborn kitten, and that’s just the way that Wonshik likes him.

 ---

The first time Jung Taekwoon kisses Kim Wonshik is the day of their debut.

After their first successful performance, while the adrenaline is still singing in their veins, Taekwoon drags Wonshik away from the crowds backstage, ignoring Hakyeon’s calls of, “Yah, Jung Leo!”

They end up in what Wonshik thinks must be a broom closet, though he doesn’t get much opportunity to check. He’s too busy being pushed against the door, gasping at the strength that Taekwoon so rarely displays.

Taekwoon kisses him, harsh and wet with too much teeth, and Wonshik thinks he should remind Taekwoon, ‘no marks, damn it,’ but he can’t seem to make his brain function as Taekwoon works his way down from Wonshik’s mouth to his neck, licking kitten-soft over his pulse-point and making Wonshik’s heart stutter in his chest.

Frustratingly, it’s over before it’s really begun, and Taekwoon pauses, panting harshly against Wonshik’s clavicle.

Wonshik feels words bubbling up inside him, words that have no place in a broom closet backstage at a music program, and so he clamps down on them fiercely and catches his breath with Taekwoon’s hair tickling his face and tells himself that it’s fine.

(On the way home in the car, Wonshik wishes that he were older than Jaehwan so that he could sit next to Taekwoon and hold his hand without anyone noticing. Instead he stretches his arm out against the window and can just barely brush Taekwoon’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers without it being obvious. Taekwoon crosses his arms like he’s cold and his fingertips slide over Wonshik’s, and it’s not perfect but it’s theirs.)

 ---

Their first fansign is overwhelming. Wonshik can’t believe the number of people who love them, who come to meet them and talk to them and wish them well. He tries his best to connect with each fan that goes by, to have even a fraction of a conversation.

He wishes that Taekwoon wasn’t so far away, that he could bump their knees together under the table and take comfort in that. But Taekwoon ended up at the other end of the table and Wonshik is squished between Sanghyuk and Jaehwan, and if Wonshik is feeling overwhelmed by all the people and the noise, he can’t imagine how Taekwoon is doing right now. (Later he’ll watch MTV diary and discover that the clip of Taekwoon that makes the cut shows him smiling and chatting with a young boy, and he’ll be glad that Taekwoon’s discomfort with crowds didn’t keep him from enjoying himself.)

What he’ll remember the most about this day, though, is one particular girl who comes through the line. Not because she’s especially pretty or she says something unique, but because she holds a silk handkerchief in one hand and coughs into it periodically as she shuffles down the line. In spite of her illness, she’s all smiles, and she has kind words that make each of them grin a little wider back at her.

When she reaches Wonshik, he hasn’t even gotten through asking her name before a bad fit of coughing causes her to almost double over, her face contorting in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asks her. He wonders why she wouldn’t just stay in bed if she was feeling so unwell, but as she pulls the handkerchief from her face a single rose petal flutters down to the table and suddenly he understands.

She gives him a smile as she picks up the petal and tucks it away in her pocket like nothing happened. “I’m alright, oppa,” she tells him. “So you take care of yourself and keep working hard, okay? I believe in you.”

Wonshik writes her an extra message of encouragement and makes sure to include the words, ‘it’s not too late’. He doesn’t know who her unrequited love is for, but he swears that for her sake he will never forget the name “Park Minjung.”

That night, in the car after the fansign is over and they’ve practiced until their legs won’t work anymore, Wonshik forces himself not to mention the word ‘hanahaki’. When he’s passed the camera and asked to share his thoughts, he swallows the story of the girl with the bright smile and sad eyes.

He doesn’t think about the fact that she might not have a future. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

 ---

Taekwoon sneaks into Wonshik’s room that night, slips beneath the covers and tucks himself close to Wonshik’s side. His breath is warm and damp against Wonshik’s neck and he’s quiet for so long that Wonshik begins to think that he sleep-walked in here.

“She was dying,” Taekwoon says at last, his voice barely a breath. It’s quieter even than his on-camera voice, and even in the silence of the night Wonshik has to strain to hear it.

“She might not,” Wonshik whispers. Hanahaki is curable; it involves separation from the object of your affection and can be quite painful, but it is not a death sentence.

Taekwoon nods, like he’s trying to make himself believe that. “It was Hakyeon,” he replies. “Did you see the way she lit up when she spoke to him? It was just like—“ He cuts himself off, but Wonshik knows how the sentence ends.

_‘It was just like the way you look at me.’_

Wonshik lets his hand tangle in Taekwoon’s soft hair and stays silent. It’s rare for Taekwoon to talk so much. He doesn’t want to ruin it with his own ugly voice.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Taekwoon asks at length.

Wonshik lets out an inquisitive hum.

“She won’t be the last, you know,” Taekwoon says in answer. “It could be you next time, or me.”

Wonshik shakes his head, hand stroking soft across Taekwoon’s scalp. He feels those words bubbling up again, and a broom closet wasn’t the place for them and maybe here isn’t either, but they don’t get the luxury of candlelit dinners and romantic getaways. This might not be the place or time for them but they’ll always be the right words, Wonshik thinks.

“I don’t think anyone could help falling in love with you, hyung,” he says. He feels Taekwoon stiffen beside him and presses on, hoping he’s not ruining everything. “I know I have.”

Taekwoon shifts and his face moves to hover above Wonshik’s in the dark. Wonshik strains to make out his features, to get a glimpse of his expression.

He doesn’t need to after all, because Taekwoon kisses him, clumsy and off-target at first, but then gentling, drawing Wonshik’s lower lip into his mouth and lavishing it with attention. Even his teeth are gentle as they scrape over sensitive flesh, and Wonshik can’t help but moan lowly at the sensation.

Taekwoon’s lips trail towards his ear to hiss, “Quiet,” and then his hands slip beneath Wonshik’s shirt and trace over the ridges of his abs. His fingers are cold and make Wonshik shiver, or maybe that’s just the thrill of arousal that goes through him.

There are so many reasons why they shouldn’t, but he finds himself reaching for Taekwoon anyway, stroking the strong muscles of his back. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, but before now they’ve always stopped before it goes too far.

Wonshik doesn’t want to stop this time.

Taekwoon’s mouth closes around his earlobe and Wonshik can’t breathe. It’s too easy to push Taekwoon’s sweatpants and underwear out of the way, to feel him hot and heavy in Wonshik’s hand. He wishes he could see, that they had the luxury of drawing this out. But it’s already nearing dawn and all too soon it will be time for more rehearsals, more schedules.

So Wonshik takes Taekwoon’s cock in a firm hand and strokes it, thumbs over the slit and revels in the gasp and flutter of Taekwoon’s breath. Taekwoon’s thigh has settled between his own and Wonshik thrusts up against it, feels the rough friction of clothing against his dick and beneath that the hard muscle of Taekwoon’s leg.

Taekwoon’s breathing is harsh and he presses kisses across Wonshik’s face, on his lips, down his neck. He lets out a high, barely audible whine when Wonshik twists his hand just right, and so he does it again just to feel Taekwoon fall apart above him.

Wonshik would gladly live here, in this moment, for the rest of time. But time is something they don’t have, so instead he speeds his strokes up, hears Taekwoon’s breath stutter and fail for a beat, and then kisses him to swallow his moan as he comes, hot and sticky, into Wonshik’s palm and across his fingers.

Taekwoon, still panting raggedly into his mouth, rucks Wonshik’s shirt up a bit farther, presses his thigh down more firmly, and whispers, “Come for me.”

Wonshik bites his lip and holds back the moan that threatens to escape, arches into Taekwoon’s tentative touches to his chest, and thrusts harder against Taekwoon’s leg, chasing his own end. His hand presses into Taekwoon’s stomach, smearing come, and the other settles again to Taekwoon’s hair to pull him down for more kisses.

It’s embarrassing, how little time he lasts rutting against Taekwoon’s leg like a hormonal teenager. He supposes that’s what he is, but he still tucks his face into Taekwoon’s neck so he doesn’t have to see his face when he comes, too quick.

Taekwoon presses gentle butterfly kisses to Wonshik’s hair and the side of his face as he comes down. One of his hands pets Wonshik’s side, his touch grounding.

Wonshik feels amazing, his whole body heavy and relaxed. He could go to sleep right now…except he needs new underwear, and he’s probably gotten come on Taekwoon’s shirt. “Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling his hand away guiltily.

“It’s fine,” Taekwoon replies. He pulls the shirt off over his head, uses it to wipe at the mess on his stomach, and then tosses it into the corner of the room. “I’m going to wash up,” he says.

Yes, Wonshik thinks that’s a very good idea. A quick trip to the bathroom and some clean clothes later, they snuggle back up under Wonshik’s blanket. They’re both warm and sated and Wonshik has nearly forgotten why Taekwoon came in here in the first place.

As he’s drifting off, he realizes that Taekwoon never said the words back, but that’s okay. Wonshik knows how he feels.

 ---

When Taekwoon doesn’t have other things to do, he crowds into the smallest practice room beside Wonshik and just sits while Wonshik writes. The space is so tight that they have to sit with their sides pressed together shoulder to hip in order to fit. Wonshik never complains, even if it’s hot.

Sometimes he gets Taekwoon to sing for him, low and soft, following the beat and the chords Wonshik has put together on his computer. Other times Taekwoon is tired, his voice worn out from too many performances, too much practice, and Wonshik sings for him instead.

Wonshik has always known that his voice is bad, that he’ll never be a singer. But it always make him feel good when he starts singing and Taekwoon lets out a sigh and practically melts against his side.

“I wish I had a voice like yours,” Taekwoon whispers one day, after Wonshik has sung his new composition for him.

Wonshik can’t help the snort that he lets out. “Why, so you’d know you were terrible?”

Taekwoon lifts his head off Wonshik’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “You’re not terrible,” he says.

Wonshik doesn’t believe him. His voice is awkward and too low and just embarrassing in front of Taekwoon, who has the voice of an angel. “I am though,” he protests. “It’s okay, I know I am. I sound like a dying moose, and—“

“ _Stop it._ ” Wonshik has only heard Taekwoon’s voice that cold and hard a few times before, and _never_ directed at him. He flinches away without meaning to. “Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

Dipping his chin towards his chest, Wonshik mumbles, “Sorry, hyung.”

Taekwoon softens, pulls Wonshik over and hooks his chin on Wonshik’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything more, but Wonshik doesn’t need him to say the words to hear his reassurances. _‘You are good enough. I believe in you. We’ll do this together. I love you.’_

Wonshik settles back in to keep working and tells himself that it doesn’t matter whether he believes it or not. Because Taekwoon does, and his opinion matters more to Wonshik than anyone else’s.

 ---

“I think I’ll get a tattoo,” Wonshik says. They’re in his room, curled around each other beneath the blankets. No one’s mentioned the fact that Taekwoon keeps sleeping with him. They’ve been telling the fans that Sanghyuk shares with him, but that hasn’t been true since MyDol, when they had everyone packed in here like sardines.

Taekwoon hums softly. His hand curls further around Wonshik’s hip. He’s comfortable and warm and steady at Wonshik’s side. “Where?” he asks.

Wonshik shrugs, jostling Taekwoon’s head. He grunts in annoyance but stays where he is. “My arm, maybe,” Wonshik says. “Somewhere it’ll be easy to hide.” Otherwise the CEO or their manager or both will probably kill him. They might kill him anyway, but at least he’ll have tried.

“Right here,” Taekwoon suggests, tracing the soft skin behind Wonshik’s elbow. He’ll have to wear sleeves all the time. It’ll be a pain.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, and presses a kiss to the nearest part of Taekwoon’s face. He’d agree to a lot more to put that little smile on Taekwoon’s lips.

 ---

Sometimes (a lot of the time) Taekwoon sits by the big window in the living room, curled up on the floor with his chin resting on his knees and his headphones in. Mostly they all leave him alone when he’s like that, figuring that they all need their privacy once in a while in whatever form they can get it.

But occasionally, when Wonshik feels brave enough, when he trusts enough in Taekwoon’s love for him, he’ll sink down beside Taekwoon, press against his side and steal an earbud to hear what he’s listening to. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that Taekwoon lets him do it with only token complaints.

They don’t usually talk—just sit together and enjoy each other’s company, the warmth of another person beside them. Wonshik comes to understand why Taekwoon likes this—the distant view of the city at night, the peace and stillness of that little corner of the room, the cool of the window against overheated skin. It’s a little escape from lives that they don’t truly want to run from.

Tonight Wonshik sits down and his hands are shaking. It’s been a long day, and normally he would go straight to sleep, but there’s this weird jitteriness beneath his skin. So he tucks himself against Taekwoon’s side, tucks a hand warm and secure into the bend of Taekwoon’s knee and whispers, “Hyung, I need a smoke.”

Taekwoon doesn’t acknowledge his words, but he wraps his arm around Wonshik’s shoulders and pulls him closer, pressing his head more firmly into Taekwoon’s neck.

The city lights are bright tonight, and the silence between them feels soft and comforting. Wonshik lets it absorb him and forgets about everything but this moment.

 ---

Wonshik can’t hide the tattoo from the rest of the band or the company for very long. Almost as soon as he comes home with bandages wrapped around his arm, Hakyeon accosts him with mother-hen inquiries.

“What happened, Wonshik? How did you get hurt? You know this’ll devastate our fans if they find out,” Hakyeon shrieks. His voice is too loud and Wonshik is tired and Taekwoon has been eyeing him hungrily since the first line was inked into his flesh and Wonshik would very much like to retreat to the relative privacy of his room.

“Hyung, I’m fine,” he insists while attempting to pry Hakyeon’s hands off his arm. Taekwoon is being no help and seems to be laughing at him.

Hakyeon doesn’t let go but he does whirl to accost Taekwoon as well, saying, “And you! You’re his hyung, you should have looked out for him. How could you let him injure himself?”

Wonshik finally succeeds in removing Hakyeon’s hands and says, “I’m not hurt, hyung.” God, he was kind of hoping that he could hide this for a little while, but if Hakyeon will stop freaking the fuck out then Wonshik will deal with it. He reaches for the bandages and pulls them off, careful of the tender new ink on the back of his arm. “Look, it’s a tattoo, okay? Stop freaking out.”

Whatever the opposite of not freaking out is, that’s what Hakyeon does. He’s pretty hysterical, screaming things that Wonshik isn’t sure are entirely words, and the worst of it is that he sees Taekwoon slip his headphones in and sneak out of the room before Hakyeon can remember that he had a part in this, the traitor.

It takes him a while to get away from Hakyeon, but when he does, Taekwoon is in his room waiting for him. He lets Wonshik sit down between his legs, back against Taekwoon’s firm chest, and they let their breathing sync up. It’s nice like this, just the two of them and the soft music still playing in Taekwoon’s headphones, now hanging around his neck. He never leaves them in when he and Wonshik are alone together.

“Think he’ll ever forgive me?” Wonshik asks after a while.

Taekwoon’s hand runs down his arm and strokes softly right next to the tattoo. “Does it matter what he thinks?”

Wonshik lets the side of his head rest against Taekwoon’s. Taekwoon’s hair pokes into his ear and it tickles a bit, but Wonshik doesn’t move. “I guess not,” he says. “I did it for me, after all.”

Taekwoon’s lips are smiling when he presses them against Wonshik’s cheek. “Then don’t worry about it. He’ll get over himself.”

(Wonshik may not have done it _just_ for himself. It may have been slightly for the man behind him, who can’t seem to stop tracing around the ink and has a boner pressing into Wonshik’s back that he’s quietly ignoring. But he’ll refrain from saying that. It would probably just embarrass Taekwoon anyway.)

 ---

In Japan, Italy, Malaysia, and America, Kim Wonshik loves Jung Taekwoon more and more. He’s heard of couples growing apart the longer they date, but in hotel rooms, at concert venues, in airplanes and practice rooms and the backs of tour buses, Wonshik can’t imagine ever losing this feeling. He doesn’t know if he believes in fate or destiny, because those feel like such simple concepts to him—it feels like too easy an explanation, and so many things had to line up so perfectly in order for them to be together.

Standing on a hotel room balcony in a country that’s both unfamiliar and also very like home, Wonshik and Taekwoon stare out at a familiar cityscape that they’ve never seen before. Stars are twinkling above them, or maybe that’s just a thousand electric lights filling the sky.

Wonshik holds Taekwoon’s hand and Taekwoon drops kisses to Wonshik’s hair. They’ve lost things because of being idols, but they’ve gained new ones. They’ve met people they never thought they would know, and have loved more than they thought possible.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” Wonshik promises.

Taekwoon’s hands can’t stop touching Wonshik, holding him tightly, and that’s answer enough.

Fate, or destiny, or chance, or some grand design, or whatever it was that brought them together, Wonshik wants to thank it a hundred million times. This is everything he ever wanted, everything he never knew he would want. This is the man that he wants to spend the rest of his life with, even if the band and their careers and everything else falls apart.

This is it, for him. Whatever else happens, he can’t imagine a world where Kim Wonshik does not love Jung Taekwoon with his entire being.

 ---

The first time Jung Taekwoon tells Kim Wonshik “I love you” is also the first time they have sex. Which is maybe not the best moment, not the most romantic, but Wonshik couldn’t care less. Because he’s known for ages how Taekwoon feels about him. It’s in every line of his body, every look in his eyes, in every reverent touch to Wonshik’s skin. So he never needed to hear the words to know that Taekwoon loves him.

But on this one day, when they somehow have the dorm to themselves for a few hours and Taekwoon pulls Wonshik’s clothes off while peppering fervent kisses onto his skin, when Taekwoon stretches him with such gentle care that Wonshik thinks he might go insane by the time he reaches three fingers, when Taekwoon slides into him and all his breath goes out at once in a moan of Wonshik’s name, when he presses the words “I love you, I love you, I love you” into Wonshik’s flesh like a hot brand, it feels nice to hear them.

Even if he never says them again, Wonshik will treasure this moment, and Taekwoon’s breathless voice, and the pleasure that ran through them both, and he will never forget that Taekwoon said those words to him. He will never forget the preciousness of what they have.

 ---

Beautiful Liar is Wonshik’s favorite promotional period for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is this: it means a lot of extra hours in the practice room, the studio, the waiting room, that are just the two of them. And sometimes the staff are there, and their manager, but there are also a large number of hours where it’s just him and Taekwoon and a quiet room filled with their voices.

The first time they get a run-through down pat, Taekwoon turns to Wonshik with his biggest smile on his face, his teeth flashing white in the fluorescent studio lights, and kisses him before Wonshik even realizes that it’s happening. It’s all he can do to keep up, to kiss back.

“I told you,” Taekwoon whispers, his lips still brushing Wonshik’s. “I told you that you were amazing.”

Wonshik still doesn’t hear it. He still gets made fun of for his low voice, and he can hear the awkward croaking and the crunching growl inside his throat, and he doesn’t even have cigarettes to blame for it anymore. “Nah, hyung,” he says, “you’re the reason this song’ll be a hit.”

Taekwoon crushes their foreheads together hard enough that Wonshik winces. “I wish you could hear what I do,” he says. Two slim fingers come up and stroke slowly down the line of Wonshik’s throat. Wonshik swallows and Taekwoon shudders at the bob of Wonshik’s adam’s apple beneath his fingertips.

“I wish I could too,” Wonshik admits. It would be nice to believe that he’s worth something as a singer. He knows that he shouldn’t be greedy—he’s got rapping, he’s even starting to get better at songwriting—but he can’t help but wish that he sounded as good as Taekwoon, that he could be proud of his singing voice the way Taekwoon is.

Taekwoon kisses him again, licks into Wonshik’s mouth and doesn’t stop until they’re both breathless. It’s a good thing that the door of the studio is frosted glass so that no one can see in. They’ve kept it a secret for this long, and Wonshik can’t imagine the others finding out that way.

“Stay here tonight,” Taekwoon whispers. Both his hands are fisted in Wonshik’s shirt and he doesn’t seem to be planning to let go.

Wonshik wouldn’t have denied him anyway. He gives Taekwoon as good as he gets, and it’s a struggle to move things out of the way and fold out the cot, but somehow they manage it. They make a pretty good team.

 ---

There are a lot of days in between when Kim Wonshik started loving Jung Taekwoon and the day that he decides to make a big, stupid gesture of love. There are concerts and music shows and interviews and awards and long practices that leave them all exhausted. There are tears and laughter and sometimes both at once. There’s love—between Wonshik and Taekwoon, between everyone in the band.

But the day that Wonshik makes that choice, the choice to put something on his skin that’s just for Taekwoon, that’s the first day that he walks into a tattoo parlor by himself. He wants this to be a surprise.

The man behind the counter recognizes Wonshik before his mask is even off, and he greets him like an old friend. Hyunwoo may look gruff and rude, but he’s anything but when he gets to know a person. This is Wonshik’s fourth time here, and he smiles just as wide and greets Hyunwoo with one of those high-five-handclasp-one-armed-hug things.

“Where’s your shadow today?” Hyunwoo asks. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and Wonshik thinks, not for the first time, that Hyunwoo probably knows what he and Taekwoon are.

Wonshik shrugs, trying to stay casual. He focuses on the prints pinned to the wall and notes that there are some new ones. One of them is a picture of the tat on his left forearm. He remembers Hyunwoo taking the picture and mentioning that he might use it. Clearing his throat to rid it of the tickle that’s been plaguing him, he says, “I don’t want him to see this one until it’s done.”

Hyunwoo winks at him and takes him back. He doesn’t ask any more questions, but he probably doesn’t need to, especially when he sees what Wonshik wants.

“You know this is supposed to _attract_ love, right?” he asks.

Wonshik knows. Maybe it’s selfish, getting this sigil, asking for more than Taekwoon’s already given him. But Wonshik wants…he wants everything, every moment. He wants all the love that Taekwoon can give him and then he wants to pay him back ten thousand times. He nods firmly. “I know. That’s what I want.”

Hyunwoo shrugs and starts to pull out his supplies. “Whatever floats your boat, man.”

 ---

The day that Kim Wonshik realizes that Jung Taekwoon no longer loves him (maybe never loved him) goes like this: the new tattoo is still fresh on his skin, covered in soft white gauze. He finds Taekwoon on the roof of the company building, curled up on the cement floor and heedless of the sun that beats down on him.

It’s not even a decision to sink down next to him, to press his hand into Taekwoon’s and ask, “Hyung, what’s wrong?”

Taekwoon shrugs, but the wretchedness of his face ruins any attempt he might make at being nonchalant. His whole body is trembling and his free hand digs pointlessly in his pocket.

“You ran out of practice pretty fast,” Wonshik pushes. The tickle that’s been at the back of his throat for the past couple of weeks is back, but he ignores it. “Did something happen?”

Shaking his head, Taekwoon mumbles, “No, I…Wonshik, _I’m sorry_.”

Wonshik wants to ask, “For what?” but his throat seizes up and that tickle finally turns into a cough. It feels like his entire body tenses as he hacks helplessly, and all he can do is turn his face into his arm and wait for it to pass. When it does, Taekwoon’s hand is no longer in his and there are wet, crushed blue flower petals on his arm.

He glances up at Taekwoon, who still looks wrecked and guilty, his whole face contorted with it. Wonshik has never seen that expression on his face before and he never wants to again, because this can’t be…he can’t have hanahaki.

“Hyung,” he says, and fuck his voice is ravaged, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Hyung, tell me it’s not true.”

Taekwoon shrinks back, and are those _tears_ in his eyes? He whispers again, “I’m sorry, Wonshik.”

It feels like Wonshik’s whole world is collapsing and he claws at his skin, at the tattoo that he got _for Taekwoon._ This can’t be true. “Why now?” he chokes out. “Am I not good enough? Did I do something?”

Taekwoon shakes his head and curls tighter around himself, drawing his long body into an impossibly tiny ball. “It’s not you,” he says. A tear rolls down his cheek. Taekwoon is crying and somehow Wonshik feels guilty for putting him in this position. “I just….”

Wonshik waits—for the rest of that sentence, for some kind of explanation for this—but nothing comes. Beside him, Taekwoon’s shoulders shake with silent sobs.

“Is there someone else?” Wonshik asks after a long pause. He feels Taekwoon tense, hears his breath catch. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Taekwoon says. His voice is hoarse. He has to sing later.

“Why not?” Wonshik asks. “Don’t I at least deserve to know why you don’t love me anymore? Fuck, hyung, it’s been four fucking years.” He can tell how hard he’s shaking. Another coughing fit is crawling up his throat and he can’t stop it.

Taekwoon beats him to it. The sounds he makes are thick and wet, coughing through the tears still in his throat. And when he’s done, a few bright red petals rest in his open palm and Wonshik understands. Taekwoon never meant for this to happen.

Wonshik reaches out for him, pulls Taekwoon in and cradles him close to his chest. The tattoo on Wonshik’s forearm presses against the bare skin of Taekwoon’s bicep, and Wonshik thinks that’s appropriate, the rune sigil to attract love connecting them in this way. Maybe they can fix this. (Maybe there was never anything to fix.)

 ---

Taekwoon finds him on the roof a few days later, and it’s instinct that has Wonshik tucking his hand behind his back, as if that will hide the burning tip of the cigarette he was smoking and the shame that he feels for falling back into a four-year-old habit.

Taekwoon doesn’t scold him, and his face doesn’t contort in that grumpy expression that means that he’s terribly disappointed in someone. Instead he steps up and leans against the railing next to Wonshik, casually reaching into Wonshik’s sweatshirt pocket to pull out the crisp new pack of smokes. There’s only one missing, the one that Wonshik is holding, and still Taekwoon doesn’t say a word. He shakes one out, puts it between his plush lips, flicks the lighter on and watches the flame for a moment.

Wonshik expects him to change his mind, but he doesn’t. Taekwoon’s slim fingers are as elegant and sure as always when he cups a hand around the flame and puts it to the end of the cigarette, breathes in deeply and then holds it, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of the nicotine filling his lungs again.

Wonshik takes another drag as he watches and leans forward against the railing. The new company building only faces tall offices and apartment complexes. Wonshik misses the neon billboard, the strange colors that used to wash out Taekwoon’s fair skin. It’s too elegant here, too clean and crisp and perfect for this moment. They’ve come so far, and yet it feels like Wonshik is eighteen again, confused and unsure of himself and too afraid to speak to Taekwoon, lest he ruin the timid peace between them.

But he doesn’t have to break the silence, because for once Taekwoon does it for him before he can find the courage. “It’s Hongbin,” he says, and maybe Wonshik should have seen that coming. Hongbin is beautiful and talented and everything that Wonshik is not, and he shouldn’t be surprised that Taekwoon has fallen for him. But Hongbin is also Wonshik’s best friend and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to look at him the same, knowing that he’s the reason that Taekwoon doesn’t love Wonshik anymore.

“Don’t hate him,” Taekwoon begs. Taekwoon never begs for anything, except maybe on variety shows when he just wants the host to stop picking on him. He’s certainly never begged Wonshik for anything. He’s never had to.

“I don’t hate him,” Wonshik replies. He doesn’t know whether it’s the truth or a lie. He’s suspiciously numb.

Taekwoon stares at the bright orange tip of his cigarette for a breath and then taps the ash off it onto the street below. If anyone catches him doing that he’ll get in trouble. Wonshik doesn’t mention it. “Might as well go back to smoking,” Taekwoon muses quietly, completely changing the subject. “I’m already dying; it’s not like it’ll change anything.”

Wonshik stubs out the end of his own cig, tosses it in a bucket, steals the pack back from Taekwoon’s pocket to shake out another. “You’re not dying,” he says after it’s lit and he’s taken a long drag. “Hanahaki is curable.”

Taekwoon exhales smoke in a long, thin stream. “It won’t work. We would have to take a year off of promotions, maybe longer. I’d have to cut off all contact with him.”

 _I’d have to cut off all contact with you,_ Wonshik thinks but doesn’t say. Taekwoon knows. There’s no good solution to this. “We can fix this,” he says instead. They have to fix this. Taekwoon can’t die.

 ---

It’s been a while since Taekwoon last crawled into his bed, but in spite of everything that’s happened Wonshik still lets him in without question, wraps his arms around Taekwoon’s waist and holds on for dear life.

Taekwoon’s hands are too cold, and he tucks them beneath Wonshik’s shirt unapologetically. “Wonshik-ah,” he murmurs.

Wonshik can feel Taekwoon’s voice reverberating through his chest and he struggles to keep his breathing even. He’s not sure where they stand anymore, whether Taekwoon is even his to touch any longer. “Yeah, hyung?” he whispers in reply.

“I wish…,” Taekwoon begins, and then he trails off into a coughing fit and when he’s done one of his hands snakes out of Wonshik’s shirt to run over the pillow in front of Taekwoon’s face, searching for petals. “It should have been you,” he says at last.

“It is me, hyung,” Wonshik says. He knows he’s being contrary. Taekwoon didn’t mean that Wonshik should have hanahaki instead of him. They’re both in the same boat here, and they can’t tell anyone but they can’t keep living like this either.

“Anemones,” Taekwoon says, instead of scolding him. At first Wonshik’s not sure what he’s talking about, and then it hits him: the petals. Taekwoon has one between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing slowly over the soft surface. “Both of us, the same flower. Guess it was meant to be, huh?”

“Guess it was,” Wonshik croaks, fighting back a cough. He wants to cry.

(Later, Wonshik will look up anemones, and discover that they mean _fragility, fading hope,_ and _the feeling of having been forsaken,_ and he will laugh at the accuracy. If there are tears spilling down his cheeks, he’ll pretend that it’s just because of the tickle in his throat and not because it feels like his heart is breaking all over again.)

 ---

Wonshik gets good at coughing into his hand and then slipping the petals into his pocket before anyone notices. At the end of the day he always has an entire pocketful of flowers that he guiltily flushes down the drain or tucks into the bottom of the kitchen trash where no one will go digging.

The day he coughs up his first whole flower, though, he doesn’t quite get it deep enough into his pocket. He doesn’t realize it right away, too busy fighting his way through a pressing crowd of fans, praying that he won’t cough again where there’s a risk of so many people seeing.

When a fan taps his shoulder and shyly offers him a delicate-looking bloom, Wonshik doesn’t realize right away that there’s anything weird. Fans are always trying to give him presents, even though they know he won’t accept them, and he almost waves it away apologetically…until he realizes.

The flower is an anemone, soft blue with a pitch black center, and the petals are slightly crushed. Wonshik knows at once where it came from. He accepts it from her tiny hands with as gracious a bow as he can manage and then cradles it in his open palm all the way to the car.

“What’s that?” Sanghyuk asks curiously, leaning over Wonshik to inspect what he’s holding more closely.

Wonshik shoves him away more roughly than he normally would and tucks the flower into his sweatshirt pocket. He can’t help but feel like he’s just been caught with damning evidence. No one is supposed to know.

Taekwoon turns in his seat to look at them, a question in his eyes, but at Wonshik’s swift headshake he keeps his mouth shut. In the next moment, he’s pulling Sanghyuk’s attention away with a question about their next performance and Wonshik breathes a sigh of relief.

They can’t tell anyone; not until they figure out how to fix this. (Wonshik knows there’s no fixing it.)

 ---

The last time Kim Wonshik sees Jung Taekwoon starts with a cryptic phone call and a note he was never meant to read.

It’s coincidence, really, that he even has his phone on while he sits in his studio. Normally he turns it off so that it won’t disturb his work, but today he’s really just plunking random notes on the piano, his eyes too glassy with fever and lack of breath to focus on actually writing anything.

So his phone rings. And Wonshik glances at it, sees that it’s Taekwoon, and picks up without another thought. He’ll always answer for Taekwoon. “Hey, hyung,” he says.

On the other end of the line, Taekwoon’s rasping voice says, _“Wonshik.”_

Wonshik doesn’t know why, but he feels like this is important, like he needs to listen harder to this than he’s ever listened to anything. “What is it, hyung?” he whispers.

 _“Wonshik-ah, I’m so sorry,”_ Taekwoon says. It’s his mantra. He says it over and over, every time Wonshik sees him. That’s been less and less lately. _“I’m so sorry,”_ he repeats. _“I wish I loved you. I know I can’t make up for this, but I….”_ He trails off, and for a while Wonshik thinks that’s all he’s going to say.

“Hyung,” he begins to say, to ask Taekwoon what’s going on, what’s wrong. (He knows what’s wrong. He’s known what’s wrong for months, as he watches both Taekwoon and himself slowly deteriorate. His chest hurts constantly. They don’t have much time left.)

 _“I would do anything for you,”_ Taekwoon says. His breath hitches in what might be a sob. _“Please believe that this is for you.”_

Wonshik wants to ask, ‘what’s for me?’ but Taekwoon has already hung up on him.

It’s confusion, worry, desperation that pulls him from his seat and out of the room. Running is hard, and Wonshik feels the pain of ragged breaths clawing inside his lungs. It’s everything he can do not to double over coughing.

Taekwoon’s studio, just down the hall from his, is empty, the computer shut down. He clearly hasn’t been here in a while, but Wonshik still looks around frantically, hoping for some sign of where Taekwoon might be. He doesn’t know why everything feels so urgent but he can’t help the pounding of his heart.

There’s a little blue piece of folded paper on top of the piano keyboard. It could be anything, really, but somehow Wonshik knows that it means something, and he picks it up with fingers shaking worse than when he was in nicotine withdrawal.

His eyes sweep over the note and then he takes off sprinting down the hall, and behind him the little blue paper flutters to the floor of Taekwoon’s studio.

 _“Hakyeon,”_ it says, _“I know you’ll probably read this first. Take care of them when I’m gone, okay? Wonshik is going to need someone, after, and since it can’t be me….”_ There’s a large, smudged spot, still slightly damp. _“Thank you, my friend. Be strong.”_

 ---

He finds Taekwoon on the rooftop.

“Oh my god, what have I done?” Wonshik whispers. There’s blood everywhere—all over his hands, soaked into the knees of his pants where he’s kneeling in the pool that covers the floor—and it’s like suddenly bright crimson is the only color he’s capable of seeing. Everything has slowed and the whole world is in grayscale except for the gory scene in front of him. It’s even more believable because of the sallow paleness of Taekwoon’s skin, completely absent of the pink flush of life.

He’s too late, that much is obvious. Taekwoon isn’t breathing, and the press of Wonshik’s fingers against his neck finds no pulse, only leaves a smear of blood against his perfect white skin. Wonshik’s breath is short and he can’t even figure out if it’s because he’s panicking or because of the flowers in his lungs. And that’s the clincher, isn’t it? Taekwoon has done this, has _slit his fucking wrists_ in some misguided attempt to save Wonshik, but it’s already too late for him. The roots are already too deep and Wonshik can’t be saved.

The coughing starts again, probably in response to his attempt at hyperventilating, and Wonshik can feel the petals choking him. Everything is wrong. This isn’t the way that it was supposed to end. Wonshik was happy to die loving Taekwoon, but now Taekwoon is dead and Wonshik still loves him and he’s dying anyway.

 _‘In the next life,’_ he thinks desperately as he sees blackness pulling at the edge of his vision, _‘I pray that I’ll never meet him. Whatever happens to me, I pray that he gets his happiness without having to ever know me.’_

It’s not enough, never enough for the person that he’s given his all to, for so many years that he’s not sure what it would be like to live without him anymore. But even as Wonshik gives up on breathing altogether, he prays that Taekwoon will get another chance. It’s the least he can do, praying that he’ll get a life that Wonshik won’t have a chance to ruin.

When the darkness finally takes him, Wonshik welcomes it.

 ---

The first time Jung Taekwoon sees Kim Wonshik, the whole world explodes in bright color, like he spent his entire life seeing in grayscale and hadn’t even noticed.

It’s not an exceptional meeting, and it won’t be written in the history books. It’s just a soccer star and the bodyguard of a VIP who wanted to meet the players after the game, but instead of a meet cute it just feels like coming home.

Taekwoon believes in reincarnation. And he firmly believes that in a past life, and in the next life, and in every lifetime after that, Jung Taekwoon and Kim Wonshik have and will come together as two parts of a whole and love like they can do nothing else.

It’s destiny. It’s fate. It’s the simple wish of a simple man, who loves with his whole heart and feels with his whole being and wants nothing more than to lie in this man’s arms for the rest of eternity.

 

 


End file.
